


Entanglements

by Nyxierose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Love Actually AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Otherwise known as the obligatory Love Actually AU. In the days before Christmas, the ties that bind become a little more constricting than usual, and everyone has their little secrets that don't need to come out just yet. Featuring a wedding, a pregnancy, and at least two couples in crisis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Being unmarried and pregnant at Christmas may not be the worst thing Eponine’s ever experienced, but it’s definitely in her top five, especially considering that her asshole boyfriend has spontaneously vanished. Again. This time for good - and she’s used every connection she can to try to track him and found absolutely nothing, so she’s forcing herself to accept the inevitable. She is five months pregnant, she’s crashing on people’s couches, and she is probably going to be the worst mother ever. Like it matters. It’s her kid, dammit, and if the entire holiday season doesn’t make her want to leave it in a basket somewhere, she’s going to keep it.

Thankfully, she has an extensive network of friends to keep an eye on her. And when she ends up in Combeferre’s spare bedroom on December 22 - he’s the only one who actually  _has_  a spare bedroom, and of course he’ll let her have it for as long as she needs it because they all take care of her in the ways they can and this is his - no one thinks anything of it. Well, except maybe Combeferre, but who is he to question such things?

It’s not like her presence bothers him, because really, he’s the poster child for an easygoing temperament and he’s survived much worse than a pregnant stray in his closet of a spare room. If anything, he’s beyond okay with the arrangement. For fuck’s sake, he’s the one who takes care of everyone, the one who makes tea and answers phone calls at all hours and has an almost inhuman level of patience and kindness. Keeping an eye on Ep, for as long as she needs him, is perfectly normal.

No, the problem here is that he’s kind-of in love with her. Or maybe more than kind-of, considering that the fact that she’s carrying another man’s child has had no effect on his affections. Well, okay, the fact that she’s pregnant has made him contemplate the idea of fatherhood, but he adores her every bit as much as he did when she was dating that asshole. And he’s every bit as unlikely to say anything to her about it.

That’s not who he is, really. He’s the sane, quiet one. And as such a person, he knows that falling in love with someone like her is dangerous. Not that it’s stopped him, but he’s well aware of the need to tread carefully.

On the other hand, though, it’s three hours after she turned up and she’s already taken up residence on his couch, TV remote in hand and knee-deep in a valiant but unsuccessful search for anything that isn’t a sappy holiday movie. “Isn’t there some network that marathons James Bond over the holidays?” she mutters, glaring as the screen flicks to yet another animated special. “This is freaking impossible.”

Cautiously, Combeferre sits down on the six inches of couch that are not currently occupied by his friend. She shifts her body to give him a little more space and he takes it, but when he lunges for the remote, she responds with a playful kick to the small of his back. “What was that for?” he asks, looking at her in confusion.

“Getting in the way of my mission,” she mutters, glaring at him.

“You could just give up and I could put in a movie?” he suggests.

“What kind of movie?” she asks, big brown eyes lighting up in hope.

“Anything you want.”

An hour later, they’re curled up together watching Die Hard because that’s Eponine’s idea of a holiday movie and Combeferre just might agree with her (although any version of A Christmas Carol will always win and he’s going to make her watch the Muppet one at some point in the next few days if it’s the last thing he does). She’s half asleep with her head on his shoulder and his hand has absently rested on her stomach and all is right with the world.

Well, except for the tiny unrequited love problem. But they have a wedding to survive in two days. They can deal with that later.


	2. Chapter 2

“No, for the last time - you want to be with Elena and the baby.”

“‘The baby’ is two, my darling, and it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

“You’re impossible, Mama.”

“And people wonder where you get it from.”

On that note, Musichetta abruptly hangs up and, for good measure, throws her phone across the room. It hits the wall, doing more damage to the apartment than vice versa, but she can’t be bothered to care. Not with this level of impending catastrophe. Even her boyfriends couldn’t fix this mess - although considering that it’s technically their fault, she supposes she has her reasons there.

Said boyfriends slip into the bedroom in tandem - it is a clear policy that they are not allowed to eavesdrop on any conversations their girlfriend has with any member of her family - with worried looks on their faces. Joly carries a mug of coffee, and Bossuet comes bearing chocolate. They know what happened, of course. It’s no surprise that the woman generally known as Señora is determined to spend the holidays with her younger daughter. It was bound to happen sooner or later. But on such short notice… well, it just can’t end prettily.

“I love you two,” Musichetta says when she notices her boys, kissing them and taking their peace offerings. “But no luck. That woman is impossible.”

“And the plan is?” Joly asks. They each have their strengths, and while Musichetta isn’t always the brains of their operation, she’s certainly the most manipulative - an ability that is going to come in handy.

“We lie to her.”

“For a week?” Bossuet shakes his head, as if already aware that it’s not going to work.

“It won’t be that hard. She knows I have two roommates. She doesn’t know anything about you guys. And if you pretend to be a flamboyantly gay couple and don’t touch me until we get rid of her, this just might work.”

Needless to say, Joly’s not exactly going for it. “How bad would it be if you told her?”

“Apocalyptic.” Musichetta shakes her head, hands on her hips in frustration. “The idea of me living with any significant other ever is enough to give her heart palpitations.  _Two_  significant others is not a concept she will ever be able to accept. And the combination… I think she’ll kill me.”

Bossuet slips his arms around her, reaching up and pressing her head into his shoulder. “So we lie to her. For you, Muse.”

Joly nods his head and joins the embrace. “For you. We can do this. Although the wedding could undo it.”

“Don’t worry boys.” Musichetta’s voice is muffled by their comfort, but they hear her loud and clear. “We were going to be the least dramatic ones there even before my mother decided to gatecrash. Her presence changes nothing.”


	3. Chapter 3

If Jehan were to make a list of things he would enjoy doing three days before Christmas, helping his closest female friend with wedding things would probably not be on it. Now, don’t get him wrong - he adores Cosette, and if there were a single part of him that was attracted to women, he’d be in love with her in a heartbeat. He’s just not entirely sure why he, the male member of her bridal party because fuck tradition she needed a third body, is stuck taming Bridezilla. Or, in her words, “sorting last-minute details with the florist”.

He has seen Cosette mad on exactly two occasions before this, and brave though he may be, he’s had the sense to duck for cover. Today, however, he doesn’t have much of a choice. Her fingernails are digging into his wrist - she needed him for moral support, she said, which has turned into  _physical_ support and holy fuck her nails are long and sharp - as she tells the florist exactly what she wants done and exactly what she’s going to do if she doesn’t get it. For being five foot even and on the skinny side, she can be intimidating when she wants to be, and the poor bastard is terrified of her.

Smart guy, Jehan thinks.

“Are we clear?” Cosette asks, loosening her grip on her friend’s wrist. The florist nods. “Alright then. See you in two days, two sharp.”

She twirls out of the florist’s, Jehan following in her wake, and skids to a halt outside. “Okay, so… get coffee or get you a bowtie? Your call.”

“Coffee,” he mutters. “You know how I feel about bowties.”

“Yeah - they’re the one ridiculous item of clothing you’ll never wear. I don’t get that. I mean, you’re dating a guy who wears them incessantly…”

“And never the right way,” Jehan finishes. “That’s Courf, though. He has charisma, and apparently that means wearing a polka-dot bowtie to a baseball game is totally acceptable.”

“You two are cute,” Cosette laughs.

“Um, about that…”

“What is it? Did he ask you to marry him or be life partners or whatever the hell you guys are actually able to do? Because that’d be so cute…”

“Right track. I’m planning to propose. After your wedding.”

“Awww!” Cosette’s face lights up, and for a moment there is no trace of bridezilla. “So what’s the problem?”

“Two problems. One, I’m nervous. And two, I don’t have a ring.”

“You, nervous?” Cosette laughs. “C’mon, you could drunkenly propose to him in a subway station or something and he wouldn’t care. This is  _Courf_ we’re talking about - grand romantic gestures are nice, yeah, but not a requirement for you. And two… dammit, the bowtie can wait. You can steal one of his. We are going to go get the most kickass engagement ring the world has ever seen, understand?”

Jehan nods, a little less nervous now but not entirely sure what he’s getting himself into. “Well… I wanted something vintage…”

“And you know how I feel about antique stores. Perfect!”

He rolls his eyes. “Remind me why you couldn’t get one of your actual bridesmaids to tag along today?”

“Because Muse is picking fights with her mother again - god, seeing Señora at the wedding is going to be a disaster - and Eponine’s… well, I actually have no idea where she is.”

Jehan knows darn well where their stray girl is - he got a text from Combeferre an hour ago, something involving a couch and unfortunately platonic fluff - but he’s not going to mention this. As much as he adores Cosette, he knows her too well. He knows she’s even more of a hopeless romantic than he is, and while the idea of setting the two new housemates up with each other has crossed his mind on a few occasions, he’s a firm believer in letting things happen without interference. Cosette, however, is not, and he’s not letting her meddle. Not this time.

“So, antiquing…”

“But first, coffee. No offense, Jehan, but you look like you need a caffeine fix.”

Someone please remind him why he got tangled up in this stupid wedding…


	4. Chapter 4

It is bright and ugly on December 23, the day before the wedding and the day  _of_  various wedding-related things that no one actually wants to deal with, when Eponine decides to stop being a waste of space. Never mind that her domestic skills can best be described as nonexistent and that, when left to her own devices, her cooking repertoire consists of grilled cheese and browning hamburger meat. If she’s going to be an unwanted houseguest for the holidays, she figures she might as well earn her keep. And really, how hard could it be to make gingerbread?

The answer, of course, is “harder than her mind is capable of processing on four hours’ sleep”.

It could have gone worse, at least. She finds all the necessary ingredients easily enough, because staying with someone who keeps a decently stocked kitchen has its perks, and the recipe she finds online isn’t  _that_  hard to follow. It’s just the matter of baking the darn thing that causes trouble. One misread instruction and half an hour later, the kitchen is full of smoke and she has no idea where a fire extinguisher is. Perfect.

“Do I even want to know?” Combeferre asks, wandering in and surveying the situation.

“Um… considering that  _I_ don’t know what happened…”

He walks over to the oven and calmly turns it off, opening the door a crack to let the worst of the smoke out. “You had that at five hundred degrees.  _Nothing_  cooks at that temperature.”

“Did I?” She buries her face in her hands, shaking her head. “Shit. I was  just trying to not be a waste of space.”

He inches closer and wraps his arms around her in a loose embrace. “You tried, Ep. And you know I don’t expect anything of you. Just having someone else around here to talk to is enough.”

She laughs, leaning her forehead against his shoulder because it is oh so comfortable to be close to someone so impossible to terrify. “So it’s okay that I nearly set your kitchen on fire?”

“You did no such thing. And we can excavate the remains of that mess… later, I guess.”

“Not now?”

It’s hard for him to resist her puppy eyes, but now is really not the time. “It might still be on fire. Besides, we have stuff to do. I need to run a few errands before the rehearsal, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with?”

“Of course. If you don’t mind having a bitchy pregnant chick along for the ride.”

“You’re not a bitch, Ep. And I need moral support. I… might have forgotten to get a wedding present.”

“So you’re dragging me to some fancy shop two days before Christmas to buy a small appliance?”

“Something like that.”

“Let’s shake some tail.”


End file.
